


The Art of Falling

by MerryLittleMess



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Action, Amir Needs a Hug, Angst, Badass, Canon-Typical Violence, Capture, Don't mess with Jaz, F/M, Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Japan, Mission Fic, POV Alternating, Rescue Missions, Slow Burn, Swearing, Team as Family, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryLittleMess/pseuds/MerryLittleMess
Summary: "Have you ever wondered how much your own life is worth to you? If push came to shove, would you be a hero and sacrifice yourself for somebody else?" - An impossible choice might tear the team apart.Focused on Amir, Jaz and Dalton, but will feature the whole team.





	1. Prologue

** Noah **

Have you ever wondered how much your own life is worth to you? If push came to shove, would you be a hero and sacrifice yourself for somebody else? And what if the line wasn't so clear cut? What if you needed to die in order to protect someone from danger? Would you still choose to be a hero or take the coward's way out?

These haunting thoughts run through his mind in an endless loop. Noah shakes his head slowly to repel them, but it’s a gesture of defeat, a white flag waving above a sinking vessel. He's been tied to this chair for hours, been pushed around and bloodied. Even the simple act of breathing has become a form of torture through cracked ribs and the air has long grown stale in the small room in the Japanese government cellar. Behind him, the servers rumble on without concern for Noah’s plight. He's endured for most of the day while he waited for the inevitable rescue - which never came. He’s tasted despair on the tip of his tongue. Now the end has come in the form of a shiny gray Smith & Wesson SD9 leveled straight at his head.

Noah swallows painfully against his dry throat. He does not want to go out like this and his treacherous heart tears at his ingrained rationality. In the long run, losing an analyst will not matter to his country, even loosing one as good as he is. He might have been top of the class, but there will be others like Hanna to fill his shoes. Fantastic, talented agents who will at least avenge his death after they could not prevent it. This means that Noah definitely can't allow himself to send the team into a trap.

But is he certain it’s a trap? Does he truly know what would happen? McG and Preach are sitting right outside the chemical plant in Nagasaki a few miles away. Jaz has the bad guys in front of her scope and Top is spotting for her. That is one hell of a team, so Amir's got backup going into the lion's den. Noah doesn’t. Right now he is all alone and honestly terrified. Amir, on the other hand, can handle himself no matter the circumstances. Right? Right?

"Make the call."

"No", he says and hates how much his voice is shaking. His grip on the armrests of the chair is white-knuckled and damp. He is sweating as the cool barrel of the gun rests against his forehead.

"Then we don't have any use for you, do we?" No, they really don’t. And who is we? Noah has only been threatened by one single woman inside the room where he set up his workplace in order to run support for this op. So who is we? Noah can’t stop his mind, gears turning and analyzing away even with a weapon placed against his skin. However, the rest of his body is succumbing to the stress of the very imminent death threat. His wide brown eyes close involuntarily, his heart beating like a hammer. Treacherous thing.

There is an audible double click as the rogue foreign agent switches off the safety. He can almost hear the bullet sliding into the chamber. Noah is shaking like a leaf in a storm. He does not want to die. He can’t, he still has so much to do. Lives to save. The missions. Hanna.

"Wait!" In that moment, he breaks. He has lost. Maybe he never stood a chance against human survival instinct.

"I'll do it." Hearing that, Agent Watanabe smiles as if she’s always known that Noah is a spineless bureaucrat. Self-hatred fills his guts like acid while his heart gushes endorphines and adrenaline into his aching body. Nevertheless, his voice on the comm system is steady, professional.

“Ueda has left the building. You’re cleared for action.” For a second he wants to add another half of a sentence, useless banter filled with an all-important safe word. Watanabe would know, though. She’d kill him well before anybody could reach him, so Noah stays silent and listens to the drama unfurl.

Top confirms and that’s it. Amir, dressed casually in dark pants, a leather jacket and a dark blue T-shirt, passes the security checks and enters the COMPART Chemical compound. A moment later Jaz reports that she’s lost visual. The screens go dark and his captor nods in a satisfied manner, whereas Noah deflates on his seat like a balloon with a hole in it. How surprisingly easy it is to become a traitor, he muses with the uncaring patience of a dead man walking. Agent Watanabe squeezes his the shoulder lightly and smiles politely as if they were still friends in this messed up situation.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He stares back at her wordlessly, not seeing the unremarkable black hair and the deep set eyes of the woman in her mid forties but rather the killer lurking beneath. How could he have missed it before? Her gun isn’t wavering and he can’t run. There’s no way out. This might be his very last moment on earth.

Out of the corner of his eyes he watches her execute a miniature bow before she addresses him with words of finality. “Otsukaresama deshita. Sayounara, Noah-chan.”

His brain translates what his heart can’t compute. She’s thanking him and telling him goodbye, calling him a friend seconds before she’s going to kill him. That hurts even though it shouldn’t matter any more and he can’t make himself answer. Noah wishes desperately that he could sprout some stupid and heroic American last words, but he’s struck speechless.

All of a sudden, the door clicks open and for a split second, Noah rejoices breathlessly. The team’s finally here! Then two bullets embed themselves in the chest of the clueless Japanese employee, who falls in the doorway. Noah gapes until training kicks in and he seizes this desperate chance and rocks back in his chair, crashes into the keyboard on the table next to him and presses F8 with his chin. His comm switches back to normal settings the same instant another bullet whistles past where the center of his body has been a second ago.

“Tasukete!”, Noah yells and even though the equivalent of a cry for help is displayed through every speaker in the whole building, he knows it’ll be in vain. His ship is already sunk, has been doomed ever since Watanabe-san pulled a gun on him. Blinding agony in his right side reminds him of the second gunshot he forgot about until he took a breath. He gasps. His right arm jerks in its bounds as instinct causes him to reach for the bleeding injury.

Regardless of the pain, the analyst sees everything in hyper sharp detail. Watanabe has paled, her gun has moved to aim again. There still isn’t a hint of regret on her features and Noah reacts without conscious thought. His feet push off the floor, tipping his chair backwards. This lends him momentum and just the right angle to kick the gun out of the Japanese’s hands before he crashes to the floor. Noah barely has time to finish the thought that this will probably hurt quite a lot, then his head bounces against the concrete. He’s not wrong – the impact rattles his brain quite spectacularly and an American flag of stars obscures his vision. A pained groan worms its way past the shock.

Has he heard the gun clatter to the floor? Yes, maybe. Where is Watanabe? He blinks warily, panic clawing at him that it won’t be enough, that he will still die a helpless death in a foreign place. Finally, the flag becomes translucent and he can make out a dark shape that hurries through the doorway by stepping over the fresh body. She’s running, getting away! Somehow, he can’t make himself care right now. Most of him is just damn glad that he’s still alive and that he’s mostly in one piece. The rest of his brainpower is dedicated to solving the rest of the life-threatening problem, prompting him to tear at the zip ties around his wrists.

Meanwhile, steps on the hallway herald the arrival of tardy reinforcements. Noah’s not sure whether he could get up even if he managed to sever the thick white zip ties. Thankfully, it turns out that he doesn’t have to try, because another agent enters the room and after a glance around the debris, the man yanks the chair upright again. He then proceeds to cut the plastic ties and shoot a thousand questions at Noah, who doesn’t understand a word and lets the words wash by. He still hasn’t managed to find his own voice again but when the man presses both hands onto the entrance wound in Noah’s side, a ragged scream is torn loose. Nonetheless, he doesn’t allow himself to black out. Not yet.

“I… I need… the computer. Get off me!” The authority in his own voice surprises both of them as well as the accumulating crowd in the hallway. The man observes him and holds up his red-stained hands, stepping back respectfully. This is all Noah needs. His trembling fingers find the keyboard and tap out a quick command that reconnects him to his team.

“Abort. Dalton, do you hear me? Abort! I’ve been compromised. You need to pull out, it’s a trap. Dalton?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Dalton**

On a scale from shushuka breakfast to White House down, Noah’s call lands approximately at Mongolian shootout. Right next to an ambush on the road and a bomb in a building full of hostages – a game-changing complication none of them want or need. The numerous implications spread in Adam’s mind akin to dust settling after an IED explosion and slowly a new, much darker picture emerges.

Noah is supposed to be safe with friends. Having that security fractured means that they can‘t trust any outside information. Anything they’ve been told about the mission might have been planted by a mole or overheard by the enemy. Their radio frequency might have attracted eavesdroppers and their location might be as secret as if plastered on a giant advertisement board. Consequently, the goal of their op has just shifted from gathering intel about a potential biochemical weapon to getting the hell out of dodge.

“Scram, right now. Secondary location”, Dalton commands through clenched teeth. McG and Preach will understand the code and go to ground immediately. Jaz is right next to him and together, they stand a good chance against whatever is ahead. The team will follow protocol and not wait for support from the outside. None of that will help their newest member, though. Amir is inside the huge compound, unarmed, operating blind and without any warning that things have taken a nosedive into a giant pile of horse shit.

As if he’s read his mind, McG speaks up. Tension seeps through his usually relaxed timbre. “No enemy contact. Wait for exfil?” Of course the medic wants to wait for Amir, but staying and completing a compromised plan is not an option.

“No. Jaz and I will take care of this.” He glances at her while she methodically dismantles her sniper rifle and stuffs it into her backpack. In his eyes Jaz is one of the most capable soldiers he’s ever met. Nonetheless, for one heartbeat he wishes she were far away from this catastrophe waiting to happen. Out of danger. Safe. Which is ridiculous, of course.

“All done”, Jaz reports and looks at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. Her posture is confident and the gun in her right hand seems as natural as a baby in a mother’s arms, just a thousand times more deadly. He shakes his head once, though. Going in with guns blazing would only get them all killed, Amir included. Instead, he nods at Jaz’s pocket.

“Call him.” It has to be her, because she’s been posing as one of Amir’s shady business partners from the Middle East. Even if the ex-CIA man was in trouble, this call would strengthen his cover and not destroy it like any kind of backup might. However, Jaz’s grim expression and silence already tell him all he needs to know before she explains that the phone is unable to connect to Amir’s.

The alarm bells going off in Adam’s head multiply ever faster as he hears the screech of car tires on the asphalt below. A glance over the edge of the flat roof reveals a group of men entering the building in an orderly but hasty fashion. Coincidence? He wouldn’t bet his life on it, so he motions towards the staircase. Jaz opens the steel door only to reel back as if bitten by a snake. “They’re on their way up”, she says and risks another look with her gun pulled up to her chest. Instinct urges him to check for himself, but that wouldn’t do him any good.

“Twelve men, all armed with automatic rifles”, Jaz whispers and crouches next to him expectantly. Adam runs through their diminishing options. An elevator is too slow and obvious besides. Rappelling down the side of the building might have been an option if not for Amir. They can’t leave any clues behind that they’ve been here or Amir’s cover will be blown. They can’t risk any kind of confrontation.

A sudden thought strikes him like lightning and he grins at Jaz. As quiet as a ghost, he opens the door to the staircase again. The unit has reached the third level of the building, which leaves them less than a minute of time to vanish into thin air. No problem.

Adam points upwards and the answering smile on his partner’s face shows that she has understood. She puts her booted foot into his hands and he gives her a boost so that she can lift up one of the dirty white ceiling tiles. The false floor will be a tight fit with them carrying their gear, yet Jaz elegantly climbs in like a circus artist. She covers him while he jumps and grabs the edges of the rectangular opening. Pulling his legs in, they are suddenly surrounded by nearly perfect darkness as Jaz replaces the tile. Dalton holds back a cough as dust tickles his nose. Tiny blades of light pierce the gloom, allowing Jaz and Adam to exchange an intense look above their guns. An almost electrical energy crackles in the air between them and Adam is reminded of a showdown in a cowboy movie except that they’re not staring each other down. The real enemy is below them on the stairs.

He can see them now and his blue eyes widen slightly as he recognizes the COMPART label on their black uniforms. The chances that they’ve been made without outside interference are minimal, but like any commander worth his rations, he forces himself to consider the possibility. Has their rifle been visible at any point? How far from the entrance was Preach’s car parked?

While he’s been immersed in his calculations, the Japanese have searched the rooftop. Normal units might have left behind outlines of their bodies on the floor or indentations of the sniper rifle’s tripod. Jaz is better than your run-of-the-mill wannabe Jason Bourne, though. That’s how Adam knows without a sliver of doubt that they won’t find anything.

His assumption is proven correct when the leader of the group huffs angrily and crosses his meaty arms in front of his chest. The man checks his surroundings and his gaze travels across the walls and up to the ceiling. Adam holds his breath and doesn’t dare to move a muscle. Opposite him, Jaz’s very quiet intakes of air have stopped as well. They are like stone statues and cobras ready to strike back.

After three agonizing seconds, the man turns his disinterested gaze away and pulls out a smartphone instead. After dialing, rapid Japanese fills the silence. To Dalton’s ears it’s gibberish and they’ve lost their translator. Fury fills his veins at that thought and a small part of Adam wonders what happened to Noah, whether the likable computer genius is still alive. His fingers clench the handle of his SIG Sauer M19 a little harder, promising silently that as soon as they get to the rendevouz point, he will find out what the hell happened.

“Honto ni gomen ne, Ueda-sama”, the man says and Adam not only identifies the name of the chemical plant’s CEO, his careful mission preparation enables also him to understand that the underling is apologizing to his master. The words before were probably an explanation of their nonexistent findings then. The voice on the other side of the call rises so that even the two operatives can hear it. Apparently, the unsuccessful man is being screamed at. Jaz grins at Adam, who doesn’t reciprocate the gesture. Screaming means anger, anger means trouble. This time, the unrest could’ve been caused by any number of sources. Either Amir actually pulled it off and stole the documents and the thievery was discovered quickly, or he’s been caught. Both of which would also explain why people are checking the surrounding buildings.

A stone of dread settles in Adam’s stomach. He knows that their inside man won’t give anything away even if he’s captured, but with their mission falling to pieces, he’s not sure when and if they could mount a rescue. And God knows ruthless CEOs in possession of weapons of mass destruction won’t make friendly hosts in the mean time.

At last, the team leader on the staircase seems to have ordered retreat. The guards fall back and less than a minute later, the thump of heavy doors outside indicate the departure of their car. Nevertheless, Jaz and Dalton wait another ten minutes until they leave their hideout. As soon as they’ve made sure that the coast is clear they take the stairs to the small lobby.

Peering out the glass doors, Adam establishes that it is still raining and that the street is free of ominous COMPART security. At the end of the block, the entrance to the company grounds are guarded by half a dozen hostiles, however, which kills any chance to infiltrate unseen. Unhappy, Dalton let's his eyes wander. Since there is a popular club nearby, a few early groups of teens are already outside. He sighs inwardly as he studies the kid's colorful getups before he opens his gear and extracts a shimmering silver jacket with an extra large hood. It’s pretentious and thus should be the opposite of inconspicuous, yet it will help them blend into this weird crowd. A Pikachu hanger-on diverts the attention from his face and Adam zips up the attire wordlessly.

Unfortunately, Jaz is not as stoic. Even though she’s wearing a humongous pink bow in her unbound hair, she can’t hide a smirk. Her dark eyes travel up and down his body. “Kawaii”, she comments dryly, then she hooks her arm through his and they step into the downpour.

Their twenty minute trip on foot to the rendevouz is uneventful and Dalton silently thanks whoever is listening for the small mercies until he sees Preach and McG. Not only are they dry and dressed appropriately, McG also whistles appreciatively.

“Very nice, Top. Pikachu has always been my favorite, too. You’re fit for a runway.” Clever as he is, he doesn’t comment on Jaz’s current hairstyle. Retribution would probably have been swift and fatal, so Adam is the better target. Top isn’t the least rattled by the dig. In fact, he knows it’s their way to blow off some steam and shoots right back. “Put a lid on it, Mr. I won the genetic lottery.”

In the end they don’t dissolve into bickering, because this is hardly the time for it. One of their own hasn’t made it to their meeting spot yet and he might not be coming. On top of that, there is the situation of their liaison and tech geek to consider. Preach is already opening up his laptop to establish a link to headquarters. The program loads and Patricia immediately picks up on the other end, the implications of which are not lost on them.

“Status?” Her voice is even, but the slight crease between her eyebrows betrays her worry.

“We’re safe. Amir is still inside the compound, though. What about Morgenthau?”, Dalton inquires. He’s stroking his beard absent-mindedly but stops as soon as he notices the tell.

“Noah was shot by a rogue agent”, Hanna’s voice joins them. “He’s stable.” Subsequently, data of Agent Watanabe as well as a photo of her fill the screen and information about her is rattled off. In return, Adam efficiently summarizes their retreat and McG adds his own tale. It seems as if the other two operatives got away without signs of pursuit.

“We heard shots when we drove by”, Preach completes the story. Nobody bothers to comment that their route was not supposed to go around the compound. They’re all busy contemplating what that means for Amir. Dalton swallows when he’s reminded of the last time they lost a teammate and glances at Jaz. She saw her best friend die that day and if her initial animosity towards Amir was anything to go by, she’s still processing the loss. Her pain is hidden deep, though, and on the outside she’s one hundred percent professional.

“Send me back in. I can meet with Ueda and if Amir’s been made, they will need a new buyer for their product.”

“It's too dangerous. Watanabe can identify Amir as a spy. Right now they might only think him a thief after corporate secrets”, Dalton says and winces at his own words. They sound callous - being caught as a corporate spy is only marginally better than being exposed as an American operative. Still, it’s the lesser of two evils.

“There are many ways to spin a net”, Preach interjects thoughtfully. “And an American operative doesn’t have an enraged and betrayed business partner.”

“You think Jaz could use her cover to get to Amir, claiming to want recompense?” That’s McG, who is perched on the edge of a table and fiddles with a wad of bandages, hardly able to contain his restlessness.

“This country and its people are defined by a sense of honor”, Preach adds and nods. In contrast to their medic, he looks as if he were meditating, but it’s Jaz who catches Dalton’s attention. An aura of determination has encompassed her and he knows that she’ll be unstoppable. She’s a woman on a mission, so he better not get in her way.

“It’s a good play.” The only one we’ve got left, he thinks, but he doesn’t voice his concerns. At best, this will be a tightrope-walk. At worst? Dalton does not want to think about that.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Amir**

“So you are suggesting that Mr. Ueda is not here?”, Amir rephrases the statement carefully and lets a few drops of righteous anger spill into his words. He’s neither a physically imposing man nor has he dressed to impress, but posture and a mantle of entitlement make him a giant in the secretary’s eyes. The elderly woman’s expression has become one of helpless discomfort.

She suspects that it’s not her fault that Amir is waiting for the CEO of her company in front of an empty office. She dislikes him for ruining her perfectly fine Tuesday evening with his hurtful tirade. She thinks that he’s being a supercilious snob with the way he lets his golden Cartier watch show. And most importantly, she’s so annoyed that she doesn’t think twice about his presence at all.

Amir huffs under his breath as she opens the office door for him after he’d claimed that staying on a non-designer couch in the waiting room is not befitting for a man of his status. Breathing the same air as a commoner is beneath me, his expression clearly conveys even though he doesn’t say anything. Overdoing it would be as fatal as allowing her to doubt him at this point, so Amir nods his thanks at her before she closes the milk glass doors. His eyes linger greedily on the scotch bottles on the bar as long as the woman’s eyes linger on him. The door shuts with more force than strictly necessary and Amir smirks. Oh, she resents him and his imaginary millionaire buddies alright.

His exaggerated swagger evaporates as soon as he’s alone and Amir slips out of the disguise as if shedding a coat. He scans the room methodically, discards the wall-spanning shelf full of white files. Too easy. There is a cupboard, which is locked until the lock meets Amir’s tools. A few personal items such as a picture of Ueda in college are inside. No hidden compartments, nothing illegal.

There is a snow globe, though, and Amir’s gaze snags on it. The Labyrinth inside the globe is made of cheap green plastic and the whole thing is cheesy enough to be a memento. Athens, the inscription says and Amir picks it up. When his fingers find a nearly invisible bulge on the bottom, he smiles. Apparently Ueda is an admirer of Greek mythology and has hidden his secrets where Daedalus’ workshop was rumored to be located. The legend of the labyrinth. Cute.

Amir plucks the small USB-drive from the snow globe and slots it into his multi-functional phone. This allows the software to copy the whole thing in seconds onto a second drive while plans, formulas and sketches roll across the screen. Even though the agent is not an expert on chemistry, he immediately recognizes the recurring theme of Sarine gas. Oh no. Amir balls his fists at his sides in an uncharacteristic display of emotions and curses silently. His usually steady eyes are alight with banked fire. During his career with ISIS he’s seen the terrible consequences of the deadly nerve gas and those pictures are burned into his soul and will probably haunt him until the day he meets his maker.

The ringing of a telephone in the antechamber pulls him back to reality and instantly, Amir’s sense of practicability reasserts itself. He quickly stashes his flashdrive and stores the other one inside the snow globe again after wiping them down. As soon as the inside of the drawer is back in its original state, he relocks it and straightens behind the desk. Time to get out of here.

In order to avoid further interaction with the secretary, Amir closes the cloning app on his phone and lifts it to hold it to his ear. He hesitates halfway there, though, because a tiny symbol graciously informs him that he has no signal. Technically, this is no problem for a fake call, yet Amir is certain that the reception was fine just a moment ago. Something is wrong.

Without further ado, he begins to talk to himself in Arabic, having half of an animated conversation about trade assets even though he doubts that the secretary speaks his language. With the flashdrive safe in his jacket pocket, he strides purposefully out of the office. He then makes his way towards the elevator, casting a dismissive glance at the woman behind her counter as he passes by. His steps grow faster, not enough to alert anyone but as rapid as he dares. Amir is sure that something odd is occurring, his sixth sense pulsing with warning. The woman was too tense during his exit. Furthermore, there still isn’t any reception and the elevator is taking too long to reach his floor. And there is something else he can’t quite put his finger on…

Frowning, Amir jogs to the staircase, feeling trapped in this huge building. Fear tingles on the back of his neck and spurs him on. He’s full-out running down the stairs now, only slowing down when the door on the second floor spits out a woman. Witness, his mind shouts and the walls go back up so that Amir manages to greet her with a cocky smile bordering on sleazy and a flash of his golden watch. ‘Hello, I’m a rich idiot’ might as well be sprayed across his forehead for all the disgusted rejection she gives him. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Amir picks her as a reason to be snooping around in the stairwell follows her downstairs until she avoids him by entering the womens’ bathroom. Another door above him opens and suddenly, there are way too many boots on the iron steps. Simultaneously, a group of a dozen men enters from the ground floor.

I’ve been set up, his paranoid brain supplies and Amir soundlessly pushes open his only remaining exit – the passage to the second floor. Stepping through before he can be spotted, the invisible man disappears into the hallway only to be greeted by a team of four Japanese security guards. A trap! The voice inside is screaming now, but on the outside he’s as cool as a cucumber while he weighs his options. Talk or walk? Fight or flight? They’re pointing their guns at him, which is a clear indicator that his identity or his evil deeds have been discovered. Walking away might simply get him shot in the back.

“How dare you?” His voice is low and ice-cold, tinged with an Arabic accent that is more pronounced in his agitation. “I am Sheik Abdelrashid, get your filthy guns out of my face.” He doesn’t threaten, he doesn’t scream. The disdain and low-key violence that emanate from his figure are incentive enough. Three of the four AK-47 muzzles lower to the ground and the employees look down shamefaced. Which is great except that the fourth one doesn’t believe a word that has left Amir’s mouth. The Japanese man with the name tag Saito keeps the weapon trained on him in an entirely too certain manner. That guy sees right through the facade and the why is not important. Knowing that in a second an enemy command will see him confronted with four guns again, Amir switches effortlessly from conversation to confrontation.

He lunges and grabs the neck of the AK, which he uses to knock the rest of the weapon into Saito’s face as hard as he can. There is a satisfying crunching sound, but Amir is already moving. He swings the rifle like a baseball bat against the second guard, hits him in the temple and watches him crumble while he ducks down to avoid a shot from the third man on his blind side. Luckily, the guard seems too astonished to actually pull the trigger, so Amir’s evasive maneuver is superfluous. The operative pivots and rams his fist into the would-be shooter. While the man folds in on himself to catch his breath, Amir smashes his knee against the man’s chin. Three down, one to go.

The fourth man swings at him clumsily and Amir is tempted to shake his head in reproach. Why don’t you utilize your gun, stupid? Perhaps he doesn’t want to hurt Sheik Abdelrashid. Whatever the case, he doesn’t get a second chance before Amir’s roundhouse kick hits him in the neck and sends him flying. Problem solved.

Breathing hard, Amir crouches in a defensive position, watchful, fists raised like a boxer. There is no imminent attack, meaning that he might still be able to drag his lame ass to the rendevouz point. After pilfering one of the rifles for himself, he runs down the corridor with his eyes trained forwards. Behind him, the door to the staircase opens, something Amir has expected but can do nothing about. The corner is only a few feet away and there is a large window he could jump through. Bad idea. Falling from the second floor wouldn’t be fun and in contrast to Jaz’s daring plan a few weeks ago, there wouldn’t be a pickup detail waiting for him. Hence, the operative slides around the bend while shots erupt behind. A bullet grazes his leg, causing him to lose his balance.

Amir rolls and comes up running, limping. Ignoring the pain, he makes it another few steps before his left leg quits the service for good. The end of the hallway is filled with another unit of guards anyways, so he has nowhere to run. With a grimace Amir lets go of his rifle after he’s established that he’d end up as Swiss cheese if he’d try to shoot his way out. They rush him, confiscate the gun and two men pull his arms behind his back painfully.

That is when Ueda himself steps out of an adjoining office and advances on the American operative. Their eyes meet and it’s obvious right away that neither is willing to back down.

“Who are you?”, Ueda wants to know as he stops in front of Amir, who’s wearing his false identity like a suit of armor. A last line of defense, and an effective one at that. Even his facial expression has changed subtly as he looks down on the Japanese CEO.

“You know who I am. My colleagues and my country will not forgive this shameful treatment.” This time it’s a threat and it has the desired effect as whispers from the men chase the announcement. Ueda has to silence them with a stern look.

“I know that you are a lowly thief.”

“You know nothing”, Amir replies haughtily. Ueda’s expression tightens until he gestures at a man to search his captive.

“We will see, won’t we?”, he says and Amir doesn’t reply as the henchman’s pat down brings the phone and the flash drive to light. The phone is encrypted, but the drive is vulnerable. This delights Ueda, who rubs his tanned hands. Another man hands him a tablet, which receives the little blue device. No larger than a penny, it might have the power to doom this company or in the wrong hands, end Amir’s life.

Time seems to stop as the machine powers up and Amir takes a deep breath. The mens’ hold on him increases to bruising strength. Apparently, they are waiting for him to start an escape attempt, which would of course be futile. So Amir waits.

“What is this? What treachery…!” Upon seeing the file on his tablet, Ueda is fuming. When Amir doesn’t react, the Japanese man steps into his personal space and confronts him with the image on the screen. The flash drive is empty. Amir raises an eyebrow like he has seen Jaz do it and fixes his intense eyes on Ueda as the silent power struggle between them continues. This round goes to Amir and damn him if Ueda doesn’t know it. The man’s thick black eyebrows meet above his nose and blood fills his cheeks, humiliation being a bitter medicine to a man so used to control.

The CEO hisses something in Japanese and Amir is let go abruptly. Pleasant surprise fills the operative until suddenly, the man on his right is moving. Amir tries to sidestep, but he is a hair’s breadth too slow. Two metal extensions graze his stomach and a bolt of electricity strikes him down. He feels multiple shocks run through him, muscles seizing up and he can’t even scream before unconsciousness drags him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... any theories regarding the flash drive? What do you think will happen next?
> 
> And thanks a lot for your Kudos and your lovely reviews - you guys rock!


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